


In the Absence of Light

by swordsmith



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Fluff, Cullen Rutherford Fluff, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Sweet Cullen Rutherford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29667027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordsmith/pseuds/swordsmith
Summary: Spoilers for Dragon Age Inquisition Trespasser DLC.Inquisitor Elinora Trevelyan and her new husband Cullen share a tender night of emotional intimacy as Trevelyan deals with the aftermath of the events of the Exalted Council and Solas' removal of the anchor.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Original Character(s), Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s), Cullen Rutherford/Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Kudos: 9





	In the Absence of Light

Inquisitor Elinora Trevelyan stared at the ceiling listening to Cullen’s soft, even breaths as he lay beside her. She squinted, straining her eyes as she struggled to make out the intricate Orlesian patterns adorning the ceiling. The darkness surrounding her felt empty: void of the familiar green glow of the anchor that had adorned her hand for the past few years. Most nights it had been a quiet glow, imperceptible had one not been looking directly at her palm. The last few days it had been particularly bright—so much so that she had found it necessary to wear a glove to bed to avoid keeping her new husband from his sleep. Now there was no glove, no anchor, no hand—just the darkness that threatened to swallow her whole. Glow or no glow, she had found it increasingly difficult to get any semblance of rest during the nights of the Exalted Council. She was grateful it was now over, even if it meant the Inquisition would change as a result of its new role under Divine Victoria. Tomorrow, the Inquisition’s soldiers and agents would begin their trek back to the fortress of Skyhold while the Inquisitor and her advisors remained behind a while longer to begin planning for Solas’ next move.

As restless as ever, she swung her legs gently over the side of the bed, rising to cross the room to a small desk on the opposite wall. She reached for the tinderbox before realizing that striking flint against steel to ignite it would be impossible now. She glanced down at the stump where her forearm used to be, gritting her teeth. Solas’ removal of the Anchor had left her with no glow to read by and no hope of lighting a flame either. Of course, “light source” had not been the primary usage of her hand in the first place, but it had been less than 24 hours since the amputation of the anchor and already she had begun to develop a rather lengthy list of things she could no longer do. For once, she almost wished she were a mage and could light candles with the snap of her fingers. She pried the tinderbox open, balancing the flint rock and steel fire rod awkwardly in her palm. She squeezed her hand, bending her fingers in sharp, erratic motions in an attempt to strike the tools against one another. Her attempts ended in a sharp clang as the flint and steel tumbled out of her grasp and clattered against the tinderbox, an exasperated huff involuntarily escaping her lips. She turned her head back to her sleeping husband, hoping that somehow the ruckus hadn’t disrupted his slumber. She had no such luck, as the commander bolted upright, eyes wide until they settled on Elinora’s silhouette across from him.

“Is everything all right, love?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry I woke you,” she replied, perhaps a bit too sharply, as she abandoned her efforts with the tinderbox and returned to the bed by his side.

“Trouble sleeping?” Cullen propped himself up by an elbow as he turned to face his wife, who had returned to lying on her back and staring at the ornately patterned ceiling.

“Mm,” she murmured in response.

“Hey,” he reached out to gently stroke her cheek. “Talk to me.”

She turned her head toward him, offering a slight smile before returning her gaze to the ceiling. “Long day.”

“I’ll say,” he chuckled softly. “What were you trying to do, just now?”

Elinora exhaled slowly before responding. “Light a Maker-forsaken candle. Candles are meant for people with two hands, as it turns out. Or mages adept at fire spells.”

“I see,” he said slowly. “Well, at least you won’t have that problem back at Skyhold. Plenty of servants running around to light candles for you.”

“Servants working for Fen’Harel. Solas.”

“Well then, I’ll light your candles for you.”

She didn’t look, but she could hear the soft smile gracing his lips as he spoke, his fingers gliding gently through her hair. “It’s not about who will light candles for me. Or do _whatever_ for me,” she shook her head. “Actually, that’s exactly what it’s about. I don’t _want_ people going around doing ordinary things for me like lighting candles or helping me into armor—that is, if I ever get to wear armor again.” She glanced to her right, where her gleaming greatsword lay propped up against the wall. The two handed beauty she would never wield again.

“I understand,” Cullen murmured, fingers entangling gently in her hair. “Were I in your position, I...” he frowned. “I’m not quite sure what I would do, to be honest.”

“That makes two of us,” Elinora muttered, rolling onto her right side, eyes still glued to her sword.

Cullen inched towards her, pressing his body against her back as he wrapped an arm around her torso. It was strange feeling the stump where her forearm used to be, but he pulled her close, his nose breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. He knew her every curve and contour, and this change, however drastic, was just a new set of lines for him to chart on the map of her that he kept always at the forefront of his mind. He pressed a brief kiss to the back of her neck.

For several minutes, the two laid like that, bodies pressed against one another, feeling each other’s chests swell as the breath entered and exited their lungs.

“I’ll never swing a sword again,” she said finally, all her breath escaping at once.

“Nonsense. We’ll just have to shift our morning training sessions to one-handed techniques.”

“It’s going to throw off my balance.”

“You’ll have to get used to it, sure, but it won’t be impossible,” he reassured her, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles across her skin.

“Maybe.” She let out a soft sigh.

“You’re still the Inquisitor. Andraste’s Herald. The hero who slew Corypheus, who healed the rifts in the sky. Nothing has changed that.”

“And what happens if another fade rift pops up? I’ll be powerless. The people will say the Inquisition’s forsaken them. People will die and I’ll be powerless to stop it.”

“Hey, hey, look at me.”

She rolled over slowly to face him, grimacing awkwardly as she carefully maneuvered the remains of her left arm beneath her.

“Does it hurt?” his eyes widened as he reached out to steady her.

She shook her head. “No. It’s just going to take some getting used to.”

His hand drifted up towards her face, fingertips skimming her skin like the stones he had skipped across Lake Lucien in his childhood. “Corypheus is dead. The breach sealed. You have risked life and limb to save this world. Literally. I don’t think anyone could say you didn’t give it your all.”

“That’s precisely the problem. The past-tenseness of it all.” She avoided his eyes, instead focusing on knotting her fingers in Cullen’s nightshirt. “I don’t want to be a has-been hero.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He clasped her fingers in his. “You said it yourself. We couldn’t disband the Inquisition because there’s still so much work to be done. Work that you can still do. That you’re incredibly good at.”

She nodded slightly, still avoiding his gaze. “It just seems like everything’s going wrong,” she muttered into his chest. “Dorian’s leaving. The Inquisition is downsizing. I lost a fucking arm.”

“Solas is trying to destroy the world,” Cullen helpfully supplied.

“There _is_ that,” she sighed, letting a dark chuckle escape her lips. “Everything is changing and I’m powerless to do anything about it. I hate it.”

“I know,” Cullen said softly. He lifted their clasped hands to his mouth to plant a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “If it’s any consolation, not everything has changed, you know.”

“Mm?” she squeezed his hand slightly, eyes still cast downward.

“I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She looked into his eyes then, catching a glint of the moonlight reflecting off of them. A sad smile stretched across her face. “You sure you don’t want a wife who has all four of her limbs?” she said, a sad chuckle falling from her lips.

A solemn expression fell onto Cullen’s face. “Don’t even joke about that.” He shook his head. “How could I possibly stop loving you because of an injury?”

Elinora sighed, smoothing her thumb across his cheek, eyes focused on her finger. “It’s not just an injury. Scars are injuries.” She dragged her thumb across the scar that decorated his lip. “This is a...” she cast her eyes down into the space between them. “Disability. It’s going to change a lot. I won’t be able to do things I used to.”

“And that would stop me from loving you...how, exactly?” His voice was gentle in its tone, but firm in its certainty.

She smiled sadly, tilting her head down to press her forehead to his chin. “I don’t want to burden you,” she said finally.

“You could never be a burden, El.” He kissed her forehead as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. “Ever.”

Elinora smiled as she curled into him. She wrapped her non-amputated arm around his back, pulling him closer. After a few minutes of resting in their embrace, she spoke up again.

“I am sorry I woke you, with the tinderbox,” she murmured against his chest.

“I’m not,” he whispered back. “You needed me. Not to help with the tinderbox, I don’t mean that,” he amended. “To be here, awake, I mean.” She could almost hear his scowl as he struggled for the right words. “That’s what husbands are for, I think.”

A smile crept onto Elinora’s face. She pressed into him, breathing the unique scent of him—leather and steel and something that reminded her of sunshine when the rain had just passed. “Yes,” she said at last, and as the word left her lips she could feel the gentle tide of desperately needed sleep begin to wash over her.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write this because I found myself thinking a lot about what it would be like to lose part of your arm, especially if you're going around adventuring, something that heavily relies on the use of your body. As someone who has all of my limbs intact, I tried very hard to be respectful when writing this. I thought about adding sex to this scene but eventually decided to keep this just as a sweet, emotionally intimate scene as I didn't want to cheapen the emotions Trevelyan's dealing with or fetishize her disability. That being said, if you're an amputee and you have any critiques for me regarding how I handle this, feel free to let me know in comments.


End file.
